


Black Talon

by SignificanttOtter



Category: Destiny (Video Games)
Genre: Gen, Guardian Uldren Sov, The Dreaming City, Training Montage, guardian uldren is five hundred emotions in a nice cape, introspection about the past, learning to sword fight, trust and vunerability
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-09
Updated: 2020-11-09
Packaged: 2021-03-08 21:14:28
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,493
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27473359
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SignificanttOtter/pseuds/SignificanttOtter
Summary: When the Guardian once known as Uldren Sov receives a gift from Petra Venj, he must confront feelings about his past, present and future.
Relationships: Female Guardian & Petra Venj, Female Guardian & Uldren Sov, Uldren Sov & Petra Venj
Comments: 1
Kudos: 18





	Black Talon

Months had passed since his first meeting with Petra in the Dreaming City.

In the time since, he had gone about learning where he had come from. Taken a new name, and become a regular sight on patrols. Though he was initially treated with reluctance, his commitment to helping the Awoken was true, so the residents of 4-Vesta came to view him with the same cautious gratitude as they did any other guardian.

One day, he and Selene finished their patrols early and returned to Petra's outpost to relax before they retired for the night.

"Now that I know you're sticking around, I have something for you," announced Petra, a gleam in her eye.

Crow looked to Regent-Commander and then to Selene, expecting that she might be in on the surprise. The other hunter gave an unknowing shrug.

"I'll show you," she said. "Let's take a walk."

The trio set off along the cliffs, following the worn, rocky path toward the Spire of Keres. It was pleasantly warm here today, and humid, as it always was along the coast; it reminded him of his summer holed up near the Forgotten Shore, though without the sting of fuel and rust in the thick air.

Since their destination was far away, they would take the Confluence, a shortcut system through the Dreaming City which leveraged the Ascendant Plane. With the Spire looming overhead, they followed the cliffside down to the portal in careful steps and easy hunter jumps, and walked through the sparkling black window.

There was no sensation to passing through except the sudden change in temperature and light. The air was underground-cool and still, the darkness lit by shimmering panes of glass and orbs suspended in midair. They walked the hallways for a bit, before pausing near a portal which had never been opened to him or Selene before.

"You two are the first guardians who have seen this." Petra warned, standing before the exit, "Please don't cause mischief."

Crow hadn't understood what she meant until he crossed through, and emerged in a massive room piled ceiling-high with Awoken artifacts.

It was cool and dry here, no doubt inland. The walls, though obscured with stacks upon stacks of chests, were high and marble, and stretched up into elaborately-carved, twinkling blue crystal ceilings. There were no windows except for narrow embrasures near the top, dark enough that their ghosts emerged to light the way. Whether they were inside the Keep, or some far mountain post he did not know.

"This was once an armory," Petra explained as they walked deeper, "but we cleared it out when the Dreadnaught arrived in the system. We needed every weapon and piece of armor we could get our hands on."

"When Oryx breached the Dreaming City itself, we had to hide our treasure," she continued, "Everyone who could spent day and night transporting our valuables here."

Their haste was evident. Tapestries and banners were heaped like laundry in careless piles. Illuminated glass panels and stone reliefs lay atop each other in precarious stacks. Pieces of technology were scattered about. Intact and broken statues mingled, and he wondered whether they had been demolished by invading hive or careless couriers.

Petra stopped at a particularly haphazard pile of chests, and began rifling through until she found what she was looking for. With Selene's help, she unearthed a long, flat box, and handed it to him.

"For you," she smiled.

Warmth prickled at his cheeks as he took the arm-length box, and, sitting with it across his lap, unlatched the locks. He was unaccustomed to receiving gifts, and was not sure how to react. His first thought: to say he couldn't accept it. To tell her that she had given him enough, perhaps too much, already. But Petra looked at him with such sincerity that he could not bring himself to.

Pulled Pork bumped against his shoulder in the way he always did when he wanted to get attention. _"Maybe thank her?"_ he offered softly. Crow did. She nodded in acknowledgement and beckoned him to open it.

His jaw went slack when he lifted the top.

Inside was a sword. But not just _a_ sword, _the_ most beautiful one he had ever seen. It had a wide, curved blade, carved with stylized scrolls and wings and birds' faces. A disk of amethyst lay inset in its center, and smaller purple jewels decorated it elsewhere. Two birds, resplendent in bronze and rainbows of anodized color, joined the blade to the hilt; their wings made the guard, and their tails formed its grip.

"We call it the Black Talon." Petra said, quietly. Selene leaned over, amber eyes agog.

Crow looked up, and saw that Petra's pleasant expression had faded into melancholy. "What's the matter?"

Petra cast her gaze away, and sighed. "This had been commissioned for the Prince. In _memory_ of him. After the Battle of Saturn. After he had gone missing, been presumed dead."

A rush of inexplicable guilt ran over him. A familiar feeling.

"And after his memorial, we boxed it up. Took it here for safekeeping. Meant to put it out when things got better . . ." she trailed off, not needing to elaborate on why it'd never seen the light of day again.

"Petra . . . I don't know what to say . . . "

He stared at his warped and faceted reflection in the hilt of the sword. His fingers absentmindedly trailed the elaborate flourishes until they reached the sharp bare metal of the edge. He thumbed it, light enough to not cut.

Once, he — _who he had been_ , he reminded himself, he _always_ reminded himself — had undone all the goodwill of his people. Once, he had died hated. But before all that, he had been beloved enough to inspire the creation of works of art. He had been cherished and mourned and missed, and his absence had punched a hole in the heart of Reef society. He ached with longing and guilt at the thought.

"It's doing no good here," Petra continued, marshalling her expression into something happier, "And, well . . . the Prince _is_ gone, but _you're_ here with us instead. There isn't a reason for a memorial now."

He pressed down a lump in his throat. He didn't deserve any of this, but he would accept it. Reluctantly, as he had accepted the Light, and his ghost's love, and the people in his life who cared about him. There was no way forward but to accept it.

"So," Selene asked gently, breaking the silence and tension, "you wanna try it out?"

Crow got to his feet, and picked up the sword. It was lighter than he'd expected, but still felt awkward in his hand. His time in the wilds had made him familiar with a variety of weapons, mostly makeshift; swords, in any traditional sense, were not among them.

"If you'll teach me."

  


* * *

  


The three of them traveled out of the Confluence to Harbinger's Seclude. More precisely, its lower level, a large pavilion carved out of the cliffside, enshrouded on one end by a high waterfall. The flat, round platform in its center would provide an excellent place to spar, once they'd cleared out the lingering taken. The three of them made short work of the task.

Silver-and-gold Awoken cutlass slung at her hip, Selene fastened her helmet. The Regent-Commander sat behind her, cross-legged atop the stump of a demolished marble pillar. "Be careful with that thing," the hunter said, "I don't want to make my ghost patch up my armor. Or me."

Crow marshalled his untidy braid of hair into his helmet. "I wouldn't think of it." Though he spoke with levity, he treated it as a serious matter. Guardians were accustomed to recklessness with their bodies, both inside of battle and training. In sanctioned crucible matches and private sparring sessions, maiming and killing among friends was common to the point of triviality.

Not so between him and Selene. From the beginning, the two had formed an unspoken agreement to not hurt one another. He was ashamed to say so, but was grateful for their mutual restraint. Though he had no recollection of dying at her hands, he feared reenacting the scenario, no matter how different the circumstances. And so they treated their invulnerable bodies like they were instead made of glass.

They drew their swords.

"Tell me when you're ready," Selene said, unhurriedly.

He thought about the stories Petra had told him of the good times in his old life. Once, his body had performed feats of heroics: with fists and guns and swords and fighters. He could not recall these events, of course, but wondered if maybe some deeply-embedded memory for the _actions_ remained. He had not been reborn entirely helpless after all. On the day Pulled Pork revived him, he had wanted to speak, and found he could, and needed to walk and known how. He had even managed to fly himself out of the Dreaming City hours after being raised.

He shut his eyes and pictured the movements. Willed himself to believe he could move that way. Took a deep breath, and looked at Selene.

"Let's go."

With little, tentative steps, they sized up each other. Trusting the Light and his predecessor's muscle memory, he lunged forward toward Selene. He realized too late how clumsy it had been. She deflected his blade effortlessly, dancing backward in hunter-light steps before thrusting forward in counter-attack. The end of her blade stopped just short of his chest armor. He was so sure he would be hit that it took him a moment to register that he hadn't.

It had not been a long exchange and yet his limbs felt weak and his heart ready to beat out of his ribcage. Half fear and half embarrassment. Why had he believed he could awaken some recollection of dueling? Why had he thought Selene would hurt him? He staggered over his reaction as much as the initial shock.

Petra slid off her perch. "May I?" she asked, gesturing at the sword. With trembling hands, he passed it to her. "More like this— watch, okay?"

She demonstrated correct form and a few simple maneuvers with Selene, moving slowly enough to explain each step, and deliberately enough to not hit one another. He steadied his breath and imagined himself performing the actions as he watched, and felt some of the nervousness dissipate as he did.

He took his sword back. Released the tension from his limbs, and settled into a looser, wider stance. Imitated what Petra had shown him, and though he still moved awkwardly, he felt less like a terrified newborn fending off an eliksni raider with a sharpened stick. Selene still landed a blow to him, or would have if she had shown less care, but effort had been made to fend her off. He hadn't nearly collapsed with fear. An improvement over his first try.

He kept at it, Petra interjecting every so often to offer advice or a demonstration until he finally got the hang of it. He and Selene fell into a regular, if slow rhythm of attack and parry and counter-attack. He even managed to outfox her several times, no doubt aided by his unpredictable beginner's movements.

As they play-fought, the only sounds were the low roar of the nearby waterfall, feet skidding against stone and the rustle of cloaks and clanging metal. Bright sunshine softened into gold. Petra wandered off to pick fruit and read beside the falling waters. Tired unsteadiness replaced the nervous shake in his arms as fatigue set in.

"Who won?" Petra asked distantly when she noticed that they had become still.

"Draw?" Offered Selene, sheathing her sword. Though her face was hidden beneath her helmet, he could hear her tired smile.

"Draw." He announced, smiling too.

  


* * *

  


The trio headed back, comfortably tired. By now, the sun had dipped below the hazy horizon, painting the sky in soft twilight purples and pinks. The air had cooled but was no less heavy, the soft breeze carrying the scent of evening-blooming flowers. Crow's thoughts lingered on the sword slung over his back. Of all that it meant, and all it _could_ mean. He hoped he would live up to it.

Selene, who led by a few paces, slowed until she fell in step beside him. "I'm sorry about earlier," she said, voice quiet. "I shouldn't have . . . put you on the spot like that."

"It's fine," He replied, for the most part truthfully. He _had_ started out as scared as he had been in a long time, but their session had ended with him as comfortable as he'd been in recent memory. "I only needed some time to get used to it."

He could not elaborate on what _it_ was even if he'd wanted to. It was learning to sword fight, but it was also vulnerability, acceptance, fear. It was a lot of things. _It always was_.

She gave a knowing nod. They walked in silence for a few moments, until Petra called back to her with a question about a field report. She darted ahead to talk to the Regent-Commander, leaving Crow alone to think.

He thought about being newly-risen. His first injuries and deaths had been the hardest, and not only because he was new to the experience. Like any other ghost with any other new guardian, it had taken Pulled Pork time to figure out what Crow could tolerate. Light could deaden pain, but too much would take away valuable sensory feedback and too little could leave him incapacitated. The period before a comfortable medium had been found had been awkward and terrifying.

He wondered if he was undergoing a similar process emotionally. Testing the bounds of his trust, in himself and in others. Swinging between too much and too little, grasping for a middle ground that left him open but not threatened. That he could be at-ease among the two people who had ended his predecessor's life was a step. Being able to compose himself in a duel with one of them was a leap, one he had stumbled on but managed to clear.

It was inevitable he would stumble more, but he was more certain than ever that he would stand up after each fall. If not on his own, with help. His ghost had long since proven he would never be truly alone, but he was beginning to believe there were — that there would _always_ be — more than just the two of them. Selene, and Petra. His old friends at the Tower, and his new friends here.

The Black Talon had once represented the Awoken peoples' devotion to The Prince. Perhaps its meaning could be reimagined: a symbol of mutual loyalty. Of trust given and earned. Of new beginnings.

He let himself enjoy the pleasant warmth that thought put in his chest, and the comfortable weight of the sword on his back, as they said their goodnights and he departed into the twinkling darkness.

**Author's Note:**

> Another scenario that's been rattling around in my brain since [my first fic](https://archiveofourown.org/works/26485618) about Guardian Uldren. There are already so many layers of irony to his story that I decided to add another: being given the sword that had been commissioned for his predecessor's (presumed) death.
> 
> And sometimes you just really have to see your faves play-sword-fight each other.
> 
> I might've given this a little more time to simmer, but I wanted to get it out there before Guardian Uldren is canonically introduced and all my headcanons are dashed. :)
> 
> (On that note, thank you to Bungie for canonizing a name for Guardian Uldren while I was halfway through writing this, since it saved me from having to awkwardly only use pronouns for him. I also feel vindicated by Crow canonically wielding a sword. Albeit the _Abide The Return_ , which my hunter is incidentally using in this fic.)
> 
> I'm new to this and greatly appreciate constructive criticism, or even just hearing what worked and what didn't for you! There was more emotion in this fic than I'd planned for, so I'd be curious to know if it hit the mark or not.


End file.
